


The One Where They're All Superheroes

by Redlance



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redlance/pseuds/Redlance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world of crime and corruption, The Warehouse sends its 'Agents' - humans who are born with extraordinary abilities - out to restore order and track down those who would use artifacts to in order to gain super powers of their own. But not everything is as black and white as the Regents would have their agents believe, and Recall learns that first hand when she encounters The Artificer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fraternizing

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was totally random. Spurred on by this post I made on my tumblr; http://redlance.tumblr.com/post/18291846480/cannot-stop-thinking-about-warehouse-13-and-what-if And then Claudia’s first line popped into my head and… well, this happened.
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters of 'Warehouse 13' do not belong to (although their alter-egos do), I'm just playing around with them. I promise not to break them (at least in this story) and to put them back where they belong once I'm done.

* * *

     “You were fraternizing with the enemy.” The Kilobyte Kid was staring up at her through the photochromic-like screen of her visor from her position a few feet in front of Recall in the centre of their team’s floor in The Warehouse. The visor was a solid piece that wrapped around the front of her head; she’d based it off something she’d seen in one of the various Star Trek iterations, and had constructed the view piece from a material of her own design. She was able to change the opacity of it with a tiny control pad she’d wired into the glove of her right hand, reflecting any of the potentially blinding energy she could put forth when darkened and providing her with perfect vision when clear; like it was now, her dark eyes slatted and suspicious as they roved the taller woman’s face. Recall reached for her shoulder, snapping loose the almost invisible clasp that held her cowl in place and then pulling it off in one smooth motion. Unruly curls sprung forth, bouncing about Myka’s shoulders as she scowled at her friend.  
     “I was not **fraternizing** , Claude.” She said, feeling dirty even as the word left her mouth. It sounded so seedy, so wrong. And there wasn’t anything about her conversations with Helena – _“no,”_ she reminded herself with a barely contained eye roll, _“The Artificer”_ – that ever seemed wrong. Maybe that was the problem. Claudia slid her visor up so that it was perched atop her forehead and its slight, ethereal glow dimmed. The younger woman folded her gauntleted arms across her chest – wrapped in blue-black body armour that had similar reflective properties to her visor and could easily withstand the blast of a bullet – and cocked a hip, waiting for an explanation she knew Myka either hadn’t thought up yet or would be reluctant to give. Myka fiddled with the straps that held her own body armour in place – black against the red of her under suit - and avoided the prying gaze of her partner.  
     “Well,” Claudia said after a moment of silence, starting to turn and walk away. “Your silence speaks terabytes.” Myka’s arm shot out against her will, just grazing the shorter woman’s shoulder but the touch was enough to make her stall and the redhead turn back, eyebrow raised in question.  
     “I wasn’t fraternizing.” She insisted, trepidation lacing her words as her eyebrows knitted together; that combined with the gentle worrying of her lower lip told Claudia that she was losing herself in thought. “We were…” Myka sighed heavily, lifting a hand to needlessly brush her hair away from her face. “We were just talking.”  
     “You were **just talking**?” Claudia repeated, her skepticism evident in the shadows clouding her face. “With **The Artificer**?” She watched as Myka flinched at the name, actually flinched, and silently began to contemplate the meaning behind that action.  
     “I…” She started, stopped, and then tried again. “I wasn’t. Not… it wasn’t…” Her frustration and confusion showed in her expression, her posture. If Leena had been there, she’d have been able to read what Myka was feeling with little more than a glance; not that she would have vocalised her findings. “I was talking to Helena.” She finally got out, pushing the words past her lips as if she were afraid speaking them might set the building on fire.  
     “Helena?” Claudia countered, eyes wide with incredulity. She hefted her arms up in the air and then let them plummet to her sides. “It’s Helena now, is it?”  
     “Who’s Helena?” Pete – more universally known as The Déjà Dude – asked around a mouthful of food, sauntering over from the elevator in his street clothes and attempting to save the remnants of chilidog that were trying to escape by way of his chin. He caught the gob with his thumb, scooping it into his mouth before taking another enormous bite from the half he still held in his hand. Claudia’s eyebrows hiked again and she kept her eyes pointedly focused on the woman in front of her as she spoke.  
     “Myka’s new girlfriend.” He coughed, the food – if you could call it that – catching painfully in his throat mid-swallow. Pete gasped for a moment, pounding on his chest as she tried to get the chunk to dislodge. When it finally did, he stared at Myka with watery eyes.  
     “Her what-now?” Claudia opened her mouth to repeat the statement, but Myka had had enough.  
     “Nothing! There’s nothing to talk about here! Claudia has a bee in her bonnet that will sting her if she keeps agitating it.” She warned, glancing between the worryingly red-faced man and the younger woman. And in true Claudia fashion, she chose to completely ignore the advice of her partner in crime. Or, anti-crime.  
     “I caught her,” she threw an accusatory finger in Myka’s direction, despite the complete lack of necessity. “Chatting up The Artificer. Or at least she was letting herself be chatted up.” As Pete gaped open-mouthed at her, Myka’s hands went to her hair, fingers threading through her curls to grip a little too harshly once she had two handfuls.  
     “That is **not** -” But Claudia had turned to Pete and he was willingly losing himself in the tale she was weaving.  
     “They totally thought they were out of view up on the roof of the library, you know, the place where the books live?” Pete made a face, but let the good-natured jibe go. “But I could see them. And she-” her hand darts out again to indicate exactly why ‘she’ is, and Myka had to take a deep breath to stop herself from grabbing the hand and flipping Claudia to dump her on her ass. “Was playing ‘shy bookworm’ to H.G.’s ‘brooding bad girl’ and was leaning against the door for the roof access like she’d swoon at any given second, while Inspector-freaking-Gadget hovered over her looking like she wanted to eat her face.” Myka didn’t even have the energy to balk outwardly, but inside she was raging. “Oh, **and**? They both had their masks off. Just as a totally, meaningless, afterthought.” And the way she said it left no room for suspecting she might have actually meant the words. Pete turned to look at her, a thoroughly scandalized expression on his face. Then he clucked his tongue at her and she wanted to scream.  
     “Myka, Myka, Myka.” She couldn’t stand it when he got like this. Whenever she trod half a step in the wrong direction during sparring, whenever she slipped and missed something – though granted, that was rare – whenever she did something decidedly un-Myka-like. He got that shit-eating grin that she just wanted to wipe off his face with Henry Solomon Wellcome’s handkerchief. He couldn’t grin like that if he didn’t have a mouth. “I totally knew it. Ever since you guys bumped heads over the whole ‘world destruction’ thing and came back talking about how you didn’t think she was really all that bad deep down, I knew this was going to happen. I could see it coming a mile away. With like, bright neon lights.” Myka shifted, swaying close to him, and stomped a heavy boot down onto Pete’s bare foot, hard. He winced, face going red again as he bit back the womanly scream trying to escape.  
     “Did you see **that** coming?” And Myka had a shit-eating grin of her own for just such occasions.  
     “Look, it’s not that you like her.” Claudia began and the smile dropped from Myka’s face as the urge to scream rose. “It’s that she’s, you know, kind of batshit crazy.”  
     “Okay, listen-” The taller woman’s face was all thunder and ire as she tried to interrupt, but Claudia held up a hand, wearing a knowing expression on her face.  
     “Please, defending her so valiantly is only hindering your case.” Myka’s lips became a thin line, and she bit her tongue. She was hot, she wanted to go, get out of this damn armour and take a shower. She wanted to curl up with a book and be alone with her thoughts. “She tried to freeze the globe, Myka. I know you think that she was driven by grief and that’s she better now,” and there were so many things wrong with that sentence, but she didn’t even want to begin pointing them out. “But she’s not safe. And that means you’re not safe either when you’re with her.” Myka bristled, squaring her shoulders and straightening herself to her full height.  
     “I can take care of myself.” Claudia dismissed her bravado with a wave of her hand, eyes darting to the elevator as the doors pinged open to reveal Sooth standing inside.  
     “You brain is brilliant when it comes to soaking up knowledge, Myka, but your freaking heart has a habit of getting in the way of common sense. I get it, okay? You crossed wires, sparks flew,” she snapped her thumb and forefinger to emphasize her point, shards of electricity blooming from them like tiny fireworks of purple and white. “Shit got charged. Attraction flared. I’ve seen her; she’s not exactly hard on the eyes-” Myka tilted her head back and closed her eyes, the groan she’d been keeping at bay finally bursting from her, loud and long.  
     “I am **not** attracted to H.G. Wells!” She bellowed, voice filling the space of the living room-come-kitchen. Steve strode by, his bandolier tight across his chest and bandana hanging limp in his left hand while he brought an apple up towards his mouth with his right, glancing at them in passing.  
     “She’s lying.” Claudia slapped a high-five into his waiting hand as he dangled it behind him. Myka’s eyes popped open, glaring daggers into the retreating man’s back.  
     “Ah ha!” Pete called, pointing a finger wildly in Myka’s direction. “I knew it!” Claudia regarded her, a look of faux-disappointment on her face.  
     “You know this is like the biggest comic book faux pas there is, right? Having the hots for the bad guy?” Myka exploded, yet somehow didn’t move from her spot.  
     “There are no hots! I don’t have the hots for her! **Any** her!” Claudia rolled her eyes.  
     “Oh don’t give me that. The idea that you’re not attracted to H.G. because she’s a woman is as ridiculous as the notion that you’re not attracted to her at all.”  
     “Claudia!” Myka said, her voice high-pitched as she stomped her foot like a five-year-old.  
     “Myka!” The redhead mimicked, her tone an octave or two higher. “You know what?” She asked, dropping her gloved hands to her hips. “It’s fine.” A smile grew on Claudia’s face that made Myka’s stomach knot. “Enjoy your time jumping across rooftops with The Warehouse’s most wanted. But can I please be there when you explain your forbidden love to Artie?” And with that, it appeared as though the conversation was over. Claudia strode away with a smirk on her face, probably off to fill Steve in on the ‘hilarious’ events of the day, leaving her alone with Pete, who was regarding her with a look that lay somewhere between intrigue and confusion. She leveled him with a stare, prompting him to voice his thoughts.  
     “I bet she’s a cat in the sack.” Her blush brought forth a wave of laughter that had her anger simmering, but never quite boiling over. Pete elbowed her in the ribs, still chuckling as he swung an arm around her shoulders and lifted his half eaten chilidog up towards her. “You want some? I foresee this going right to my thighs and my tights are already, well, tight.” Myka snorted, albeit delicately.  
     “I can’t believe you actually wear tights.” She said, shaking her head at the cliché.  
     “I can’t believe you’ve actually gone cuckoo for cocoa puffs over an evil genius.” He sighed wistfully. “Star-crossed lovers.” He removed his arm, pressing his free hand to his chest while he shoved the rest of the chilidog into his mouth, spewing bits of mangled bread and meat product with his next words. “It’s so romantic.”  
    Sometimes, Myka wondered why she bothered. She’d imagined the life of a superhero as a glamorous one, one that would find her be adored by millions and in a position to become a positive role model for the youth of today, and while that was sometimes true, she found that there were days when the cons did indeed outweigh the pros. But then her thoughts would wander to a woman who’d inexplicably weaseled her way into Myka’s every waking thought, every fragmented dream, and a small smile would slowly curve along her lips.  
    She really hated it when her teammates were right.


	2. An Encounter With The Artificer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the tail of runaway criminal, Recall has a run in with The Artificer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where I'm going with this fic or how many parts it will end up having. Right now I'm just kind of having fun with it, so I hope you have fun reading it. :)

     “I’m losing him!” Recall grunted out the words against the front slip of her cowl as she hefted herself over a chain-link fence and hoofed it after the maddeningly quick-footed man they were chasing. Her boots shattered the tranquillity of the puddles that dotted the alleyway, sending small streams of water out to die as droplets against the cement. “Where the hell are you?”  
     “Uh, hello? Still trying to figure out why the Debilitater Chip I stuck him with isn’t zapping his neurons to within a millimetre of consciousness.” The irritated voice of The Kilobyte Kid rang in her ear with only the slightest tinge of distortion and beneath her cowl Recall rolled her eyes. She skidded to an almost stop against the slick pavement and made a last-second direction change when she spotted bright orange hair disappearing around the side of a nearby building. “If I can just get it to….” And then her voice was gone, speech forgone in the way of technological drama. Recall groped blindly for the slightly raised spot at the wrist of her left glove and she pressed the small button, effectively cutting off her verbal connection for the moment. Heavy boots pounding against the pavement, she darted between the parked cars that lined the night-darkened side street and ignored the burn in her legs as they protested against her quickened pace. Brian Mulroney was a wanted felon. He’d been arrested on five separate accounts of armed robbery and one of GBH after a security guard at the bank he’d held hostage tried to take him down, and yet somehow the jury overseeing his case had found him innocent. Despite the security camera footage and eyewitness testimonies, Brian Mulroney had managed to get off scot-free. They’d smelled the scent of an artifact even before they’d gotten the ping and The Watcher already had a hunch as to what the artifact in question was.  


* * *

     _“Johnnie Cochran’s glasses.” Myka glanced over from where she was fitting her chest plate with Pete’s help.  
     “As in the lawyer?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow. Artie opened his mouth to answer.  
     “Like O.J.’s lawyer?” Pete interrupted, voice filled with an odd kind of awe. As if he’d just remembered the awesome thing he did for a living. “That is so awesome. Man, I wish I was coming with you guys tonight.” Myka smiled fondly at him, reaching out to poke lightly at his ribs and letting loose a chuckle when he winced and whined aloud.  
    “You need recoup time, dude.” Claudia threw in from her position across the room from them. She was sitting on the arm of the couch that stood as a kind of divider between the kitchen and the television area of their team’s floor, glancing at their forms that were silhouetted against the large, bulletproof windows. “You’re no use to anyone if a gentle breeze drifting by your ribs has you doubling over in agony.” For a second, Pete looked like he was going to argue, but his face suddenly slackened.  
     “I’m getting a vibe.” He said, lifting his hands from Myka’s outfit to touch the fingers of his right hand to his temple.  
     “What does it feel like?” Myka asked and Pete wrinkled his nose.  
     “Ookey. Greasy.” He slapped his lips noisily. “Like British fish and chips.”  
     “Excellent.” Claudia said dryly as she pulled on a glove and snapped her fingers to check the connection. Energy flared, sparks of gold and purple, and she smiled in satisfaction. “Maybe we’ll find him at that seafood place on fifth that you love. You know, the one that’s riddled with salmonella?” Pete bit his lip, throwing her a stern look and pointing a finger warningly in her direction.  
     “Hey. They didn’t find enough evidence to close the place down and that to me says ‘welcome back to all you can eat popcorn shrimp Tuesdays.’” Myka jerked her head back to look at Pete who was fiddling with the strap on her chest plate and made a face at him. “Oh don’t you judge me.”  
     “If you’re all quite finished.” Artie interrupted brusquely, slapping a file down onto the kitchen counter with enough force to make it sound like a gunshot. “Johnnie Cochran’s glasses.” He repeated, and like most chastised children, this time they listened._

* * *

    Recall was almost a blur as she ran by the few people who were out roaming the street at this hour, but they rubber-necked the super-streak regardless. It was still not entirely commonplace to see a veritable superhero running through the streets of the city and sometimes she wondered if they’d find it less strange to see her swinging from a web or something.  
    Finally, she turned into the alleyway alongside the city’s library building that she knew was a dead end and cracked a wide smile when she saw Brian Mulroney illuminated by a wall mounted street lamp at the end of it. He was looking around frantically, desperately searching for an escape. One two second survey of the area later told Recall that there wasn’t one, just her at the end of the alley and the night sky above them.  
     “Okay,” she began, reaching for the Tesla she had holstered in her belt and drawing it. “You’ve got two options. You can either coming willingly,” she grasped the butt of the gun in both hands, “or you can come unconsciously and smelling kind of like bacon.” His wide blue eyes blinked at her and his movements were jerky with anxiety as he moved from foot to foot. That was when she noticed he wasn’t wearing the glasses. Maybe he’d been nervous about breaking them? Whatever the reason, it was going to make her job a lot easier. “Hand over the glasses, Brian.” He shook his head, broad shoulders shifting as he reached for something beneath his jacket. “Freeze!” She yelled, flexing her trigger finger but not yet adding pressure.  
     An odd sound filled the alleyway then; a kind of whirring whoosh. It sailed down from the rooftops overhead and seemed to pluck Brian Mulroney right out of existence. The only lead she had on which direction he’d been taken in was his startled scream and the sound of a gun being fired impulsively. The bullet sank into the cement a few feet away from her and Recall jerked her head upwards to follow the rapidly receding form of the man she’d been about to Tesla. Or be shot by. Mouth working, she stood there for a minute as she tried to comprehend what exactly had just happened. He’d been there, right in front of her, seconds ago. Then the sound, something had grabbed him, and now he was gone. Fumbling for the button at her wrist that would open a connection to The Kilobyte Kid, she lifted the slip at the front of her cowl higher to make sure the receiver was close to her mouth.  
     “Claude?” She whispered, eyes darting around the apparently empty alleyway. “You didn’t just… invent some kind of bungee device and use it to skydive off the roof of the library building in order to capture Mulroney, did you?” Silence rang in her ears for a moment.  
     “Nooooo.” The Kid drew out the word and Recall could picture her face; eyebrows raised, looking at her like she’d taken a shot of crazy with her orange juice that morning.  
     “Didn’t think so.” She sighed, striding towards the side of the building and staring up at the ladder that served as an emergency exit. “Okay, guess I’m going up then.” She paused and then said, “Claude? Remind me that we need to look into a jetpack or something.”  
     “Making a mental note of coolness that will **not** be forgotten.” The redhead chirped. “Now just hang tight. I think I’ve almost got this bug worked out.” Recall pressed the button at her wrist again, sure that the younger woman would chime in when she got things figured out. Holstering her Tesla again, Myka reached up and pulled on the bottom rung of the ladder, releasing it from its safety catch and lowering the bottom half to its full length. She pulled herself up with little effort and began the steady climb. The building wasn’t overly tall, five storeys, and her feet worked against the cylindrical rungs to propel her upwards.  
    Nearing the top, Recall slowed her pace, peering over the edge of the low wall that surrounded the perimeter of the roof. It was dark, almost too dark to see anything, but she could make out the shape of the small structure that housed the stairs for the roof access. The rest of the building top was empty, or so it appeared. Her movements slow and calculated, Recall slid onto the roof with the grace of a cat, long legs bending into a crouch as her feet found purchase on the gravelled roof. The jagged pebbles crunched beneath her weight and she cringed at the sound it made, but remained as still as the sky above her. Her eyes swept over every shadow, corner to corner, before finally coming to rest on the small building. Suddenly, there was movement, and she was up. Unable to clearly make out what was going on, it looked as if Brian Mulroney had stepped out of his hiding place to fall flat on his face. Gravel crunched again and inwardly she winced at the phantom feeling of pointed rubble biting into flesh. Drawing her Tesla once more, she inched closer, aiming the gun down toward the fallen man. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light and as she neared him, the ropes that bound him became visible. She stopped short, startled by the unexpected sight of the bound and gagged man, and allowed her arms to drop slightly.  
     “What the….” Her whispered sentence trailed off as a shadow in her periphery caught her attention. Shifting her gaze, Recall pulled her aim up, setting her sights upon the form that was leisurely strolling around the side of the stairwell.  
     “Agent Bering,” her heart rate spiked and her grip on her Tesla slackened unexpectedly, “fancy meeting you here.” The suggestion of laughter hung about the words and she knew that if she were able to see the other woman’s face, it would be brightened by a smile.  
     “H.G.?” She asked hesitantly, not entirely sure why she’d voiced the woman’s name as a question; she knew it was her. There was no mistaking the accent, the drawl.  
     “In the flesh.” The other woman’s tone was teasing as she walked forward, pace slow. The moon flickered to life, freed from the shadows of the clouds, and bathed the rooftop in its soft light. The Artificer stood before Recall, a gentle smile tugging at her lips and holding some kind of contraption that looked somewhat like an oversized handgun. The shining brass of the goggles obscuring the topmost part of her face glinted in the pale light, and as she drew closer she brought a hand up to lift them from her face, perching them atop her head. Green eyes followed every movement, and Recall eventually remembered the gun-like object The Artificer held in her other hand. Seeing the change in attention, H.G. lifted it, careful to point it up and away from the woman before her. “Fear not, it’s no longer loaded.” She assured the agent, inclining her head towards the downed man behind her. “And was indeed what I used to capture your crook. A crook that is now most definitely unconscious, should you be wondering.” A heavy boot jutted out, an ever persistent need to double-check prompting Recall to nudge the fallen man’s shoulder. When he didn’t move, she brought her attention up and stared at the veritable vigilante standing opposite her.  
     “You stole my mark.” Recall accused, voice betraying the agitation she felt. H.G. smiled wryly at her.  
     “I’m rather inclined to think I saved your life.” She pointed out, reaching into the waistband of her trousers and procuring the gun Brian Mulroney had fired. It was handed to Recall butt first and the Warehouse agent grasped it, blinking dumbly and caught somewhere between wanting to admonish the woman before her and profess words of gratitude. “Though you are of course free to see it however you wish. I only hope you shan’t hold it against me.” Her British drawl was teasing.  
     “How long have you been tailing me?” The Artificer’s smile widened at the question, turning into a mischievous grin as she pointedly ignored it.  
     “Darling, while the cowl irrefutably creates a rather seductive and enigmatic visage, it does hinder your ability to speak.” An elegant eyebrow rose archly. “Won’t you remove it so that you may speak unencumbered?” Recall stared at the woman standing across from her. The woman who’d basically just asked her to unmask herself in public. Every second of remembered training told her that under no circumstances was she ever to reveal her face where watchful eyes could catch sight of her. That removing ones mask was akin to setting fire to the entire Warehouse institute. Their real identities were as dangerous as the artifacts and criminals they hunted down, and their release unto the world would bring nothing but doom. But she wasn’t unveiling herself to the world. It was just H.G. And it wasn’t as if it would be the first time The Artificer would see the woman behind Recall.  
    Fingers twitching in the silence, she finally brought her hand up and flicked the clasp that held the hood in place. Then, motions quick lest she change her mind, she pulled the cowl free of her head. Loose curls bounced about her shoulders, settling against the nape of her neck and Myka fisted the hood in her hand, glancing towards H.G. with an odd sense of apprehension.  
     “Much better.” The Artificer smiled her approval and Myka felt her unease wane. “As for my ‘tailing you’, I would suspect for the better part of the evening. Unless you mean in the grander sense, in which case I’d have to say that I’m inclined to keep that my little secret. After all, I must maintain a certain air of mystery.” She chuckled then, her gaze coy and flirtatious as it lingered on Myka’s face. Feeling herself redden under the attention, Myka set her eyes to the roof of the building beneath their feet and she gave the unconscious man a thorough onceover. Kneeling beside him, she squeezed a hand between the rope binding him and the edge of his jacket, forcing her way in until she felt the tell-tale shape of a glasses case brush the tips of her gloved fingers. But the ties proved to be too tight for retrieval and she withdrew her hand for the moment.  
     “How did you get him up here?” She asked, a frown creasing a small line between her brows as she fingered the rope around him. Then, suddenly remembering, her head jerked back up to find H.G. standing beside her, hair falling over her shoulders like a waterfall of black silk as she bent her head to look down at Myka. She was still holding the gun-like contraption in her hand and, pointing a finger towards it, Myka answered her own question. “That.” Surging to her feet again, Myka had to take a step back to put enough distance between them so that she could take a good look at the obviously hand-made invention she was now being offered.  
     “It’s a grappling hook gun.” H.G. announced as Myka’s fingers brushed against hers in the exchange. Glancing up from the gun at the obvious pride in The Artificer’s voice, a smile curved across the taller woman’s lips.  
     “Did you make this?” H.G. barked a laugh, tossing her hair back over her shoulder with a flick of her head and then arched an eyebrow, her expression one of thinly veiled superiority that utterly betrayed the size of her ego.  
     “I **invented** it.” H.G. amended with a smug grin and Myka shook her head, smiling a little bemusedly at the fact that she’d somehow not expected that answer. She turned the gun over in her hands, running her fingers over the smooth metal, openly admiring the simplistic design that had proved to be incredibly efficient in capturing the wayward criminal. She was well aware of The Artificer’s talent for inventing, it was something she admired and, in private moments, found herself awed by. Whatever one might think about H.G. Wells, you could not deny her brilliance. The tales talked of time machines and other equally unimaginable feats of intellect, though Myka hadn’t yet voiced the questions she’d thought up in regards to them and so they remained as bedtime stories for the moment. “You appear suitably impressed.” H.G.’s dulcet tones pulled Myka from her reverie and coaxed a smile from her.  
     “I am.” She admitted, holding the grappler out to the other woman. “But I can’t help thinking that you’ve created things far superior to it since joining the twenty-first century.” The Artificer hummed her acknowledgement, sliding her invention back into its resting place on her belt.  
     “Your assumptions are not incorrect.” She teased and lifted a hand to finger the goggles perched atop her head. “Though I do find myself nostalgically clinging to the styles of days passed. There is something so ceaselessly charming about things from the Victorian age.” Myka’s lips curved into a wry smirk.  
     “Can’t argue with that.” H.G. caught her gaze and archly raised an eyebrow; deep brown eyes alight in the darkness. Myka felt herself caught by the intensity of it, like a pull of gravity too strong for her to break free from. Her skin prickled beneath her body armour, a sudden wave of heat licking at her flesh, and Myka had the unexpected sense of something swelling inside her chest. It wasn’t the thick, tar-like feeling of fear and it wasn’t apprehension or what she suspected one of The Déjà Dude’s vibes felt like. It was akin to the kind of uncertainty she’d felt the first time she’d really put her armour to the test and leapt from the top of the Warehouse building. It had been exhilarating and terrifying, but not in a fearful sense. She hadn’t been scared, she’d been nervous about what to expect. About the potential. With H.G. standing before her wearing an expression that lingered close to wondering and gazing at her in an intensely soul-searching fashion, Myka felt as though she were freefalling again.  
    The sound of electricity popping and fizzling loudly caused both women to start, the purple and gold sparks fountaining out and flickering ghostly slivers of light across their faces. Heart hammering in her chest, Myka dropped her attention to the unconscious man at their feet and watched the Debilitater Chip finally crackle to life.  
     “Ah ha!” The connection between herself and Claudia was unexpectedly reopened from the redhead’s end and The Kilobyte Kid’s voice, high-pitched with triumph, rang with all the force of Big Ben in her ear. “I got it! Suck it, firewall!” Wincing, Myka reached up to yank the wireless bud out of her ear canal but held it close enough so that she was still able to make out what the other woman was saying. She could practically hear the fist-pumping. Lifting her left arm, Myka hit the button embedded into her gauntlet to open her connection and held her wrist close to her mouth. “Did I get him? I got him, right? He’s down?” Myka blew out a breath, lifting her eyes to glance at H.G. through her eyelashes.  
     “Uh, yeah. Yup. Brian Mulroney is definitely out for the count.” H.G. steadied her with a knowing grin and Myka found herself having to look away. She turned, making her way between the prone form of the man and the stairwell building.  
     “And **that** is how you remotely overload someone’s synaptic nervous system like a boss.” Claudia chirped, gloatingly, and Myka chuckled, endlessly endeared by the younger woman’s excitement over her own inventions. “You can tag him okay on your lonesome?” Resisting the urge to clear her throat and stutter her way awkwardly through an answer, Myka found herself nodding even though Claudia couldn’t see her.  
     “Yeah, I’m good. By myself.” She flushed, lightly. “Not a problem.” Claudia signed off and Myka slid her thumb against the button at her wrist once more, breaking the link. The distinct sound of a tongue clicking brought her attention up and she watched H.G. saunter towards her. All svelte elegance and assured movements, an unyielding confidence that shifted her muscles with a fluid grace; a river flowing with an unbreakable steadiness, despite the obstacles that might be placed in its path.  
     “Fibbing to your teammates.” H.G. chastised with a playfully reprimanding glower. “Tut-tut, Agent Bering.” Green eyes rolled and Myka slumped against the wall behind her.  
     “Well what was I supposed to say? ‘Actually Claude, The Artificer beat you to it. Oh yeah, she’s here right now, hold on while I pass you over so you two can catch up’?” H.G. smiled ruefully, humming her vacillation out loud. And then suddenly, Myka found her vision entirely obscured by pale skin and eyes as dark and endless as the night sky, stars glimmering within them. Her breath caught in her throat, a quiet gasp escaping to fill the silence of the night, and H.G.’s lips curved into a suggestive smirk.  
     “I’m to be your little secret then?” She asked and Myka felt her heart being to pound anew, heat flaring along the back of her neck as The Artificer pressed a hand against the wall beside her head and rested her weight against it, leaning into Myka. “For you to keep all to yourself.” Swallowing convulsively, the taller woman wondered how it was possible that she felt as though H.G. was looming over her. “Dreadfully sneaky, don’t you think?” And even though she was aware that she was being asked a question, Myka couldn’t remember how to form words in order to answer as she pressed herself flush against the side of the building. She fleetingly deliberated over whether or not H.G. might have developed some kind of disarming amplifier that allowed her to render a person immobile through nothing more than close proximity before finding the idea ridiculous.  
     “Necessary.” She was finally able to blurt, disjointedly, fingers absently running over the coarsely pebbled surface at her back.  
     “Quite.” H.G. agreed, her gentle laughter ghosting across Myka’s face. “I do not doubt you have you reasons for maintaining an air of secrecy. Though I must admit I find them curious.” The Artificer dropped her gaze and Myka fought the urge to gasp again and yank her hand away when she felt H.G. lightly grip her wrist, instead settling for pulling her lower lip between her teeth. Lifting it between them, H.G. ran her thumb around the area she’d seen Myka fingering and felt the miniscule numb bubble beneath it. “You could so easily have notified your friend of my presence. A warning might have lessened any of her potential shock.” Myka furrowed her brow, working her tongue around the inside of her suddenly dry mouth in an attempt to shape speech. Seeming to sense her trouble, and take an unabashed joy in it, H.G. leaned in closer to enlighten her, her words stroking the shell of Myka’s ear. “It would appear as though we’re being watched.” Myka’s eyes snapped open, the fact that they’d closed would be something she would not dwell upon until later, and immediately went to searching their surroundings. H.G. pulled back from her with a chuckle, removing herself completely from Myka’s personal space and letting the cool air of separation slip back in to fill the void. “And that is a knowledge that leads me to think that perhaps this is the ideal time for me to bid you goodnight.” Boots crunching against the gravel, Myka could only watch in a kind of stunned immobility as H.G. retreated from her. She pulled her goggles back down over her eyes and unclipped the grappling hook from her belt. “I hope the rest of your evening is as fine as you, Agent Bering.” The thudding sound of someone’s boots hitting the pebbled roof sounded close by and Myka’s head snapped to the right to find the illuminated figure of The Kilobyte Kid standing a few feet away. But her attention was pulled back and she unashamedly sought out The Artificer and caught her form soaring up towards the heavens, eventually disappearing over the top of a nearby building. The light from The Kid’s visor shut off as Claudia raised it and Myka swallowed hard as fiery brown eyes locked with her own. Crossing her arms petulantly before her chest, the younger woman strode forward wearing an expression of disbelief.  
     “What the hell was **that**?” And Myka sighed.  
    Because how was she supposed to provide some kind of clarifying light for Claudia when she herself was still firmly enveloped in darkness?


	3. Total Recall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a discussion held by Claudia, Pete and Steve about The Artificer and Recall’s intentions towards her.

    Agent Pete Lattimer was no stranger to dangerous situations. He had personally stared Death in the face on no fewer than three occasions and while both Myka and Claudia loved to remind him that they’d saved his ass, it didn’t take away from the fact that he’d come back from the brink of the eternal abyss. And it was an abyss; the prospect of death was about as dark and scary as it got, though it was pretty well neck and neck with the memory of his partners staring it down while he stood by helpless to do anything other than watch. But that memory was neither here nor there at the present moment.   
    No, the point his brain was trying to make was that Pete Lattimer, The Déjà Dude himself, had bested Death on multiple occasions and yet none of them came close to causing the same level of terror that he achieved when Claudia Donavon made him sit in that damn chair. Because sitting in that chair meant he was going to be hooked up to all kinds of monitors, which in turn meant that she had something she wanted to test out on him that would require very close attention be paid to the inner workings of his body. “It’s cool, it’s just so I can make sure your insides aren’t melting.” She’d told him once, in a manner that he’d supposed had been intended to put him at ease that really, really hadn’t worked at all. Like not even a little bit. But he hadn’t melted then and her argument remained that if he’d survived that specific test then everything else was going to be a cakewalk. It didn’t exactly provide him with the level of comfort he’d have preferred. Maybe this was Death’s way of getting back at him for slipping through its boney fingers.  
    “Dude!” Claudia yelled as she straightened to let her posture betray her annoyance. “Will you please sit still? You’re like a fraking five-year-old getting his hair cut.” Pete scrunched his nose up; making a face that only added an extra example to her point.  
     “How much longer is this going to take?” He whined, wiggling the fingers of his right hand. Each of the digits had a different coloured finger clamp affixed to it, plastic wrapped wires protruding from the ends of them and running down and along the floor to where they were hooked up to some kind of homemade-looking machine that Pete didn’t even know where to begin theorising on the purpose of. Claudia’s deft digits were back at the small rectangular Borg-looking – he’d received a quick high-five upon voicing that particular thought – implant set against his temple. She was adjusting a miniscule dial with a tiny screwdriver and throwing a glance toward a second machine that the suction cup she’d slapped in the centre of his forehead was hooked up to.  
     “That depends. How many more pointless questions are you going to ask me?” Pete huffed and let his body relax further into the armchair that was nowhere near as comfortable as it looked. They were in what both Claudia and Myka liked to refer to as ‘The Study’, but that Pete much preferred to call ‘The Seventh Level of Hell’ because it wasn’t quite at rock bottom but it was close.   
     “Okay fine,” he said with just the hint of a pout hanging about his mouth, “then just tell me what it is exactly that you’re doing.” Claudia sighed in exasperation, but he knew she couldn’t refuse a potential moment of gloating. She was a smart cookie and proud of it. He was proud of it too, but saved those kinds of compliments for instances that would incur maximum brownie points.   
     “Well if all this goes according to plan, the next time you go all Phoebe Halliwell on us and get one of your uber-vibes this little currently unnamed piece of ingenuity,” she tapped the surface of the object that was holding itself against the side of his head by way of something he hadn’t yet been made privy to, “will shoot any of the more clearer images to a computer back here at HQ. It’ll also upload them to any Farnsworth it has the frequency to, which will be mine, Jinksey’s and Myka’s once I tune them in.” Pete nodded absently, lifting a finger to scratch around the outside of the plastic-feeling mechanism only to have his hand slapped away. “Don’t fiddle.” He frowned at her, but lowered his hand.   
     “And if it doesn’t go to plan?” She waved a hand dismissively, an action that came altogether too quickly for his liking.  
     “It will.” He decided to let it go. Sometimes it was best to go into things without total knowledge of all possible consequences.  
     “So the next time I get a clear shot of a guy or some distinct object or monument, you guys will be able to see it too?” Claudia nodded, mumbling an “In theory” and then slid the screwdriver into the pocket of her jeans, turning away from Pete to bounce back and forth between the machines she’d set up. “And what are they doing?” He asked, waving a wired hand towards them. “Because I gotta say, Pete no likey being bonded to homemade whatchamacallits that, knowing you, could suddenly obtain sentiency at any given moment.” She threw him an amused look over her shoulder.  
     “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Then, making a show of brushing away a non-existent tear, she turned a small, ridged black dial a few clicks to the right and let her eyes scan the digital display. “These babies are monitoring your heart rate and brainwaves.” At Pete’s odd gurgle of amazement, she turned back to him wearing a wry smile and arching an eyebrow. “I know. I was surprised they managed to find them, too.” He knitted his eyebrows together again and clucked his tongue, shaking his head in feigned sadness.  
     “You know, words hurt, Claude.” She grinned at him then, reaching to muss his hair.  
     “You’re a big boy Petey, I’m sure you can take it.” He scowled at her and lifted the hand not hardwired in to smooth out his short locks.  
     “So how’d you come up with it?” At that, Claudia paused in her bend to adjust the clamps on his fingers and the movement might have gone unnoticed by someone who didn’t live with the young woman, but Pete didn’t have time to question it before Claudia was speaking again.  
     “Myka said H.G. gave her the idea. I’m just expanding on it.” Pete started violently beneath her hands, causing her to pull back from him like he’d just tried to Chinese finger trap her with his mind.   
     “You’re testing the ideas of a fruit-loop on me?” He barked, his wide-eyed gaze following her as she stood again   
     “Just calm your man-boobs, Sylvia Browne.” She snapped, hands held out palm down in a gesture of placation despite the somewhat harsh glare she was giving him. “Regardless of how her profile might read, H.G. is all kinds of brilliant and I’m not letting a bitching idea slip away just because its source has had a tendency in the past to be less than reputable.” Pete gaped at her, mouth working in silence until his words left him in a rush.  
     “That is **exactly** why you let ideas slip away!” He yelped, tone dangerously close to shrieking levels. “And her profile does say she’s brilliant, dangerously so! Did you and Myka both get smacked over the head with the same sense-stealing artifact or something?” He was raving; she hated it when he raved. It made him all red-faced and sweaty. She hefted a sigh and counted to three, because Pete never gave her enough time to make it all the way to ten.  
     “I didn’t get slapped with anything except a healthy dose of a none-Warehouse agent opinion.” He blinked stupidly at her, mouth hanging open just a little as she distracted herself by rechecking the monitor readouts. “We walk around wearing our suits and some kind of rose-tinted hero goggles that let us see the world in the way we’ve been told it should be seen; like it’s black and white. Bad guys, good guys, artifacts and none-artifacts. We’re told that there are people like us and then there are people like H.G., and that there’s a super distinct line that separates us. But nothing is ever as simple as just being black and white, Pete.” His expression softened as she spoke, his frown melting to reveal a look caught somewhere between blank and understanding that really only left him looking a little confused. “We were told that H.G. was the bad guy, right?” Rhetorical, he didn’t answer when she looked up at him. “That she was never supposed to leave the Bronze Sector, that she was dangerous. But we weren’t told **why** and the really crappy thing is that we never even thought to ask. We just blindly followed orders. Is having that kind of faith in anyone ever a good thing? When you think a person or an establishment is so incapable of making a wrong decision that you don’t even think to question them?” Her lips twisted and she pulled her lower one between her teeth. “I’m not saying that H.G.’s a good guy or someone we should trust, but I am saying that I think we need to start asking questions. She’s just a shade of grey like the rest of us, trying to make it in a sometimes blindingly confusing world of colour.” Though Pete’s expression remained somewhat vacant, he seemed to consider her words for a long moment. Claudia returned his gaze, fingers absently fiddling with the strap of the tool belt that was slung low on her hips. Bits of multi-coloured wire stuck out at odd angles from the top of one of the small pouches, others were filled with smaller versions of the usual suspects: hammer, screwdrivers, a wrench or two. There was also a pocket that he knew was filled with a number of strangely shaped things that Pete could only think to describe as doohickeys.   
     “I don’t like philosophical you.” He said with a rueful smile, finally breaking the silence. “She makes a weird amount of sense.” Claudia held her hands up, flourishing her fingers up and then back down to indicate herself.  
     “Uh, genius, duh.” Her own smile was winsome, and making one last adjustment to the miniature dial on the front of the implant, she gave Pete a playful couple of slaps to his cheek. “Okay, all done. Your vitals are copasetic, but if you feel any unexplained nausea, dizziness, or, God forbid, you smell fudge, then you need to get your ass back here pronto. Capisce?” Pete lifted his hand to give her a mock salute.  
     “Yes, ma’am.” He drawled, accent turning southern as he plucked the suction cup from his forehead with a dry sucking sound. Claudia took it from him and depressed the clamps at his fingertips, freeing them. He stood up from the armchair and stretched his arms over his head, letting out a satisfying groan as a bone somewhere in his shoulder popped back into place. “Why the sudden change of heart?” Claudia cast a glance over her shoulder at him from where she was putting everything back in its proper place. The Study was nothing if not organised chaos. It might have looked like a tornado had just vacated the premises, but Claudia always knew exactly where everything was. She gave him a half shrug.  
     “Myka has been known to make a weird amount of sense too sometimes.” He regarded her with a thoughtful expression, before waggling his eyebrows.  
     “So, it’s brainwashing then.” She laughed at him and threw an errant suction cup in his direction. He batted it away with a hand and a smile and then a minute of silence found them. “She’s still hanging out with she-who-shall-remain-nameless then?” His tone shifted with the words, turning in a direction that made Claudia lift a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.  
     “Okay for starters, there’s no room in my study for Judgey McJudgers, so if you’re gonna be like that you can take a walk.” And her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was warning and Pete had enough foresight to hold his hands up in placation.  
     “Who’s judging around here? Not me. No siree, Bob.” He heard her sigh.  
     “I know what it’s like to go a little crazy after losing someone you love.” Pete scratched at the newly cropped hair at the nape of his neck, sadness pulling at his heartstrings. Claudia had been through the ringer more times in her young life than most eighty-year-olds he knew. Which, granted, wasn’t many, but his point still stood. “And Myka isn’t ‘hanging out’ with her, okay?” Claudia tossed a pair of wire trimmers into a labeled plastic draw and then slid it shut with a little more force than was necessary before pivoting to face her teammate. “H.G. just kinda keeps showing up.”  
     “I’m not really one for actually reading rule books, but I’m pretty sure stalking a federal offence.” Pete intoned, eyebrows pulled together in a frown that betrayed no small amount of concern and mistrust.   
     “Maybe it isn’t if the person being stalked isn’t all that opposed to it?” Claudia offered with a dismissing wave of her hand. Humming aloud, Pete absently ran his fingers over a small rectangular object that was sitting on the top shelf of a multi-tiered metal table similar to the ones used in hospital operating rooms. Suddenly Claudia was at his side, slapping his hand away. He turned his head to stare at her, pouting in an affronted manner as he rubbed the back of his hand. “Unless you want to have you skin needlessly stitched together?” She challenged, eyebrows raised, and he seemed satisfied with the explanation. Moving away from anything that might tempt him further – he was only human after all, one with an insatiable curiosity he’d been told on multiple occasions, only the person telling him that usually used much stronger language – he idly scratched at the area around the implant.   
     “What game do you think Myka’s playing?” Claudia seemed confused by the question and conveyed that to him by way of a blank stare. He gestured towards nothing in particular with a wave of a hand. “You know, letting H.G. tail her, secret meet ups, explicitly avoiding telling Artie or The Caretaker. It’s not like Myka. She’s usually so...”  
     “By the book?” Pete scrunched up his face at her offer and shook his head a little.  
     “I was going to say anal, but only ‘cause it makes me giggle.” And he did; with a grin the size of a five-year-olds and the apparent mental capacity to match. Claudia rolled her eyes.   
     “God, you’re such a man-child.” Removing her assortment of rings, she pulled off the plastic purple coloured gloves she’d been wearing and tossed them expertly into the trash can lying at the side of a paper-strewn desk a good five feet away. She pumped her arm, lifting a knee with the motion, and mouthed a silent ‘score!’ before straightening and returning her attention to Pete. She was about to voice her theories as to why Myka was being Miss Super-Secret Agent when the doors to the study swung inward and Steve Jinks, AKA ‘Sooth’, strolled into the room, a manila folder in one hand while the other held an apple he was currently sinking his teeth into.  
    He tossed the folder onto the surgical-like table and held out the hand with the apple in it, pointing down towards it.  
     “Watcher wants you to take a look at those.” He mumbled around a mouthful of half-chewed apple and Claudia made a face.  
     “How is it that you are the least dude-like dude I know in terms of eloquence and smell, and yet you still eat like a pig?” He shrugged, eyes twinkling, smile wide and dripping apple juice.   
     “It’s a gift.” She made a noise of derision that he grinned at but otherwise ignored. He perched himself on the arm of a threadbare reading chair that Myka had insisted remain part of the décor, despite the fact that it didn’t match anything else in the room. She’d argued that it matched the books. “What are we talking about?” Claudia, nose wrinkling in distaste as Steve took another slobbering bite of his apple, did not answer quickly enough, giving Pete free reign.  
     “Myka’s secret lesbian club meet-ups.” He waggled his eyebrows at Steve suggestively, receiving one that as slow to rise in return, and Pete’s somewhat lecherous grin receded when he remembered who he was talking to.  
     “Oh, can I please be there the first time you decided to refer to it as that in front of Myka?” Claudia’s question pulled his attention to her and he found her gazing at him beseechingly, hands clasped before her and eyes playfully pleading.  
     “Is this about H.G. Wells?” Steve asked with a slight crease to his forehead, seeming to choose his words carefully. Claudia rolled her eyes at him, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back against the desk behind her.   
     “Please, when it is **not** about H.G.?” She retorted with a tilt of her head, the bright green streak in her hair shifting forward to slide over her natural red.  
     “Whenever Artie’s around.” Steve pointed out and Claudia narrowed her eyes at him, brandishing a screwdriver that had appeared out of nowhere in his direction.  
     “Yeah, well, what Artie’s doesn’t know won’t kill him.”  
     “Noooo.” Pete drawled, eyes becoming a tad wide, “but it might kill Myka.” Absently depositing the tool onto the desk, Claudia barked a laugh and raised her eyebrows.  
     “Believe me, the last thing H.G. wants to do if off Myka.” She paused, a play on words so desperately close to leaping from her lips she had to literally struggle with her inner self to rein them in. She didn’t need to add fuel to Pete’s perv-pyre. She saw the argument starting to form in the older agent’s mind reflecting on his face and decided to stop him before he hand chance to voice it. “Look, I saw them that night, okay? It was dark, but the night vision on my visor works pretty damn well; **not** that I would have needed it. You could literally see the sparks a block over.”  
     “But what does it all mean?” Pete’s voice adopted a thinly effective British accent and his hand came up to cradle an invisible pipe close to his mouth. He made a show of smacking his lips and then pretended to puff on the pipe, arching an eyebrow inquisitively. Steve shrugged.  
     “Does it matter?” Both Claudia and the still puffy-cheeked Pete turned to stare at him in disbelief. He shrugged again, taking a number of small bites of his apple to finish it off. “I mean, aside from her being the enemy and all.” He spent a moment chewing thoroughly and then, once he’d swallowed, decided to enlighten them. “It’s obvious that Myka is sneaking around, whether or not she’s partaking in organising these ‘meet ups’,” he shot Pete a look, “she presumably isn’t doing anything to deter them, right? Otherwise, they wouldn’t still be happening.” He allowed them a moment to ponder on that, sliding from the arm of the chair to drop the apple core into the trash can before resuming his position. “Obviously Myka is getting something from H.G.” A short round of giggles burst from Pete, unable to be contained and perfectly capable of being ignored. “But does it matter whether or not we know what that is?” Steve lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and then brought a hand up to brush the palm over his bristly hair. “I haven’t known Myka as long as you guys have, but I think I’ve been around long enough to confidently state that Myka doesn’t walk into things without meticulous planning.” At that, Claudia snorted.  
     “We once spent an entire day going over the quickest way to get the artifact we were out to snag into a static bag. I’m not saying that it wasn’t an important element of the plan but, you guys, an entire day. There were **blueprints** involved. And these weirdly padded salad-tong grabby things she’d invented.” Pete laughed at the memory, he hadn’t been in the room at the time, but he’d been able to hear the commotion while eavesdropping in the hallway.   
     “She always knows what she’s doing.” Steve assured them. “This won’t be any different.”

* * *

     _“I have no idea what I’m doing.”_ Recall reflected from her position dangling from the balcony of a ninth floor apartment building, nothing hiding her but the cover of darkness. Her cowl kept getting in her way and the railings she was clinging to were slippery from the rain that had only recently ceased. _“Why do you always do things the hard way? There are perfectly good stairs inside the building.”_ She huffed, sliding her left arm around the thin pole of metal and holding on tight as she reached up with her right. _“But no, superhero Myka,”_ she grunted, slowly pulling herself upwards, _“had to scale the side of the building like one of Pete’s comic book characters.”_ With a restrained groan, she heaved herself over the side of the balcony and toppled ungracefully, though silently, to its cement floor. Crawling the short distance to a wall beside the sliding door of the apartment that would hide her from view, Recall got to her feet and brushed a gloved hand over her black leg guards. Strong enough to withstand a bullet, malleable enough to allow for the flexibility needed to inelegantly fall over a wall or kick some guy’s teeth down his throat. A material of her own design that was still currently unnamed, despite the fact that Claudia had suggested many which the redhead had deemed more than suitable. ‘Myklar’ had been top of her list, because of how “it’s like Kevlar, only better.”  
    Recall thumbed open a pouch at her hip, fingers dipping inside to retrieve a small circular object. It looked similar to a compact, though it was a little bigger than could be considered a convenient size, and she flipped it open with a flick of her wrist. She inched closer to the door and held her arm out, slowly moving it so that it was positioned in front of the glass and tilting it in just a way that she could see what was being projected in its mirrored surface. There were people inside, that much was unmistakeable, but it was too dark to make out who they were or what they were doing. She sent the pad of her thumb searching for a small, almost flat nub she knew lay along the side of the lower portion of the device and, finding it, she slid it along the pathway that had been moulded for it, watching as the reflection zoomed in. She waited the few moments it would take for the image to clear and then stared at what she was seeing with wide, incredulous eyes. Snapping the mirror closed, she launched herself from the wall and gripped the handle of the sliding door, wrenching it open with so much force she was honestly a little surprised she didn’t rip it from its runner.   
     “What are you doing here?” She demanded, long legs taking her over the threshold and into the dim room. There was a middle-aged blonde woman handcuffed to the radiator against the wall opposite her who looked thoroughly annoyed at being in her current predicament, something to which Recall could relate. Gaze shifting from the sitting woman, it found the hem of a long tan duster and swept up along the length of it. She was a little irritated to find her breath catching when she met the expected deep brown gaze of The Artificer. “And how did you get in without me seeing you?”  
     “I’m inclined to think that I’m here for precisely the same reasons as you.” Her tone was smooth, laced with thin threads of humour that tugged at her lips upward a way that would have been imperceptible to anyone else. “And I used the stairs,” she said airily, “a handy invention that we **did** in fact have in my day, darling.” And the Warehouse agent found herself needing the distraction of depositing the mirror back into its pouch in order to regain her quickly depleting composure.   
     “You stole my mark,” she griped, eventually bringing her head back up to meet the other woman’s gaze. “Again.” The stern emphasise with which she delivered the word did nothing but lift one corner of H.G.’s mouth a little higher.   
    Helena was without her goggles that day and their absence cause Recall a moment’s wonder, as did the thick cylindrical silver tube the other woman had strapped to her back. Her hair flowed about her shoulders in its usual inky beauty and it appeared as though all she were wearing beneath her duster was a pair of fitted dark brown pants and a thin pale blue button-down shirt. That, and an entirely too pleasantly contrite expression.  
     “Ah. Well then, you have my sincerest apologies.” Lips pursed beneath her cowl, Recall took stock of Helena’s raised eyebrows and the slightly mischievous glimmer to her gaze and decided that the chances that the other woman was being ‘sincere’ was about as likely as Pete turning away cookies. And she’d personally seen him snap up at least two after barfing up his lunch. She threw a reproachful, narrow-eyed gaze in Helena’s direction.  
     “And I’m guessing you have my artifact.” Reaching into the pocket of her duster with a gloved hand, The Artificer carefully retrieved a small glass vile that was partially filled with an opaque pinkish liquid. She held her arm out towards the agent and moved her wrist so that the vile swung back and forth in her grip.   
     “I am indeed in possession of an artifact.” H.G. said, and then quickly curled her fingers around it when Recall reached forward. Helena arched an eyebrow slowly, regarding the taller woman with a smug smile. “Though I have thus far been unable to find your name on it. Curious.” Momentarily closing her eyes and counting to three, Recall let the air slip from her in a quiet gasp of annoyance.  
     “Listen,” she paused, eyes darting to the handcuffed woman sitting against the radiator before pointedly addressing Helena by the name under which the world had come to know her, “Artificer, I need that.” She pointed toward the inventor’s fisted hand, eyes never leaving the dark-haired woman’s face, and she felt her heart thud forebodingly in her chest when Helena pursed her lips and seemed barely able to contain her smile.   
     “I find it very hard to believe you would require such drastic aid in order to be granted the returned affection of one whose heart you wish you capture.” The words flowed from Helena’s lips along the wave of a short burst of tinkling laughter, tickling at something inside the Warehouse agent. Despite her urging, Recall felt a blush begin to rise and hoped her cowl combined with the shadowed room would be enough to cover it. Neither of those things, however, would help her come up with a reply and so she found herself standing in a darkened room of an unnamed apartment building, staring silently at the smirking face of her would-be enemy. Completely and utterly unable to form words.   
     “If you guys are finished with…” Two sets of eyes darted down toward the woman sitting against the radiator with her legs stretched out before her, feet crossed at the ankles. She was regarding them with a raised eyebrow and a mutedly interested, though slightly confused expression, “whatever it is that you’re doing.” She rattled the handcuffs holding her in place and let that signal the end of her sentence.   
     “Handcuffs?” Recall turned to face H.G. once more, her own eyebrows raised beneath her cowl. “Why would you even-?” And The Artificer’s lips were forming what was sure to be an answer that bordered very closely on TMI and one the hero wasn’t entirely certain she could handle at that moment. “You know what? Never mind.” So she cut her off, brushing past the British former-agent and closing the distance between herself and the woman regarding her with a somewhat blank expression. “What were you thinking?” Recall chastised, not really expecting an answer. The woman hefted her shoulders, her face becoming a mask of some familiar sorrow.  
     “I just wanted to be loved.” But as sad as the artifact thief seemed, there was an underlying greed that couldn’t be denied.   
     “By seven different men?” She asked, incredulous.  
     “And one woman.” Helena intoned with an overly cheerful enthusiasm and Recall could picture the grin on her face.  
     “There are five people in the hospital because of you.” She shook her head, staring down at the felon with a remorseful gaze. “Was it worth that?” An answer was not forthcoming and after a moment Recall turned to The Artificer with an outstretched palm. “Key.” Brown eyes blinked mischievously at her and she felt her heart give an overly exuberant couple of beats. “Please.” Clenched teeth made the word a little more indistinct than usual, but they succeeded in their endeavor and H.G. pulled a small handcuff key from the pocket of her pants. She sidled up to the hero, reaching out with her empty hand and grasping the one outstretched before her.   
     “Since you asked so nicely.” She drawled, accent thick and smile full of private, yet obvious thoughts as she placed the key into Recall’s waiting palm. Her gloved fingers grazed the length of it as she pulled it back and their eyes connected.  
     “Haven’t you ever wanted to be loved so badly that you’d do anything just to feel it returned?” The woman’s voice broke through the trance that had caught them in its web and Recall tilted her head back down towards the other woman, a reproachful expression shadowing her features.  
     “What you had with those people wasn’t love.” She said, disdain spilling from her mouth. “You forced them under your spell; you tricked them into loving you. What they felt for you wasn’t real and whatever feelings you had for them, it wasn’t love.” The woman’s pale blue eyes turned suddenly dark, stormy as they gazed up at the hero.  
     “Yeah?” She said, her voice a low, derisive growl. “What do you know about love?” With a pointedly heated glare, Recall declined to answer.   
    The few moments it took to free the woman, haul her to her feet and re-handcuff her hands behind her back were spent in silence. Recall’s movements were jerky with agitation, but she refused to allow herself to dwell on the reasons for it and finally turned to face The Artificer. Only to find her strolling towards the sliding doors as if they’d just said goodbye after a nice afternoon spent catching up on the trivialities of their lives.   
     “Hey!” It was supposed to be a strong, perturbed-sounding shout, but it came out as more of a surprised squeak. “Where do you think you’re going?” H.G. spun, tails of her duster dancing through the air, and she flashed an apologetic smile.  
     “Much as I’d love to stay, I’m afraid a pressing engagement is forcing my leave.” In an undignified show of eloquence, Recall sputtered.   
     “You can’t just-” The twinkling of Helena’s eyes cut her off even before the British woman’s voice did.  
     “I do believe I can.” And then stepping out onto the balcony and reaching for some unseen apparatus beneath her coat, she said, “Until next time, darling.” Then there was an explosion of steam and Helena was soaring impossibly upwards, a knowing grin plastered across her face. Blinking stupidly at the scene unfolding before her, Recall momentarily forgot all about the woman currently under her arrest and strode out onto the balcony.   
     “Unbelievable!” She yelled, staring up at the form of The Artificer as she disappeared over the top of the apartment building behind a cloud of steam. It wasn’t just that she found the woman infuriating at times; that would be easily handled in comparison. No, it was the fact that she found Helena all kinds of brilliant and intelligent and, God help her, charming. And Helena knew it. She knew there would be no one chasing after her and very few repercussions come their next meeting. Because there would undoubtedly be a next meeting. Shaking her head at herself, Recall turned back and found the darkened room empty. Her rueful smile slid from her face and she jogged back inside, mood shifting rapidly in the direction of ‘pissed off’. “Why do they always run?” She fumed, but then stopped short as she strode by the small island on her way to the wide open door of the apartment. There sitting on the countertop was the vile of pinkish liquid she’d come here for.   
    After a few heartbeats, Recall lifted the vile and slid it into one of the pouches at her belt, trying vainly to ignore the way her stomach was fluttering as she bolted out of the apartment hot on the tail of her would-be escaper.  
    She really didn’t have any idea what she was doing.


End file.
